Breaking Point
by awakentooblivion
Summary: SPOILERS to Allegiant. He lives in two worlds. There isn't much difference between the two worlds, really. He hates one, but he desires the other.


**Disclaimer: I do not and will never own the Divergent trilogy. Veronica Roth however, the genius, the mastermind behind the epic tale, does. This story is purely fan-made - a sort of deleted scene from the books I came up with.**

**A/N: Bleh. I don't like putting disclaimers. Is it not obvious that on _Fan_ , everything is not going to really belong to the writer, other than the story? Come on.  
**

**No quote. Too lazy. Wrote this so long ago...**

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He lives in two worlds. There isn't much difference between the two worlds, really. He hates one, but he desires the other. Why?

In one world, she is there—happy, loving, just _there_ for him. And in the other . . .

Well, he is determined to stay in the one where she is there. After all, it is real. It is all real.

So, why does he feel so alone when he wakes up? Why does he leap up and punch the wall in anger, ignorant of any pain other than the burning agony in his chest? Why does he scream and yell and crumple to the ground—useless—when he realizes it is all futile?

That she is gone?

_No, because she is only gone here_, he thought. She'll return. She'll return when I fall back asleep.

And so he goes back to asleep.

And when he opens his eyes again, she is there. Laughing, smiling, brighter than any angel anyone could have known.

There is that sinking feeling again, that part of brain that sneered at him. _You know this won't last_, it reminds him. _She'll be gone once your dream is over. So wake up. Wake up, while you still can._

It's cowardly. The Dauntless don't mourn and delude themselves after a loss. They drink more than they can handle, and take out all the stress and the anger on whatever they can. Four would never, never tolerate something like this. This is the reason why he had left Abnegation, to escape his father—to become stronger.

"Four is dead," he snarls, but his anger shatters once again into sorrow and just plain _agony_, as he chokes out, "all that's left is Tobias."

It is true.

All that is left is Tobias Eaton. Tobias Eaton, the boy who learned to fear closets and belts. Tobias Eaton, the boy who once cowered at his father. Tobias Eaton, who falls to emotion.

The strong, powerful, and collected Four he had worked so hard to gain—died.

All that is left is Tobias Eaton.

One morning, when he stumbled into his room, she was there—gazing at the photo on his wooden desk with tranquility.

"You," he chokes out, not knowing what to say.

"I see you haven't been doing so well." Gracefully, she crossed the room in a few strides, meeting his eyes just a few feet away. She was so close, yet so far.

"Of course not." For some reason, he managed to smile. Some kind of weight had been lifted in those three words. "How have you been doing?"

"This isn't about me—" she cut in quickly and smoothly, "why are you like this?"

He chuckled softly, humorlessly.

"Are you saying you don't know? You, who I would run through hell and back to check that you haven't trailed behind to do something stupid?"

She looked away.

"I'm not that important, you know. The world doesn't revolve around me."

He tried stepping forward to break the distance between them, but she had already moved back.

"Well, I guess it doesn't, seeing as it's still foolishly going right now—" he rolled his eyes, trying to stop the urge to just lunge and wrap his arms around her. "—But you must know that mine does."

"I'll just stop beating around the bush, then. You need to move on, Tobias. Everyone has, except for you."

"Move on? Move on?!" he spread out his arms, laughing in a tone that was bordering on insanity. His voice goes quiet. "You think it's that easy?"

"It isn't. I know. But you have to try," she pushed on, a pained look on her eyes.

"It's impossible to try," his voice was raised slightly now. "Do you know how it feels? Coming back, and being told you left instead of Caleb? Already _knowing_ what they're going to say next, but refusing to comprehend? Just _standing_ there, stiff, not knowing what to do? I couldn't do anything. I was useless. I still am useless. Like you said, I can't get over this, right?"

She didn't say anything. He continued,

"Sacrifices come with its prices, too. Everything does. Every decision does. Tris, Beatrice, I'm hitting my breaking point here. I can't do this anymore!"

"No!" she yelled at him, an angry and desperate yell. "No, you are not going to take that way out. Don't be selfish, Tobias. Don't be a coward."

"I thought being brave gets you killed," he countered, shooting her a look.

"Only for the right reasons," she defended, her strong voice suddenly weak.

"There are no right reasons for dying, Beatrice."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

They stared at each other for a few moments. It wasn't awkward, but rather comforting. He felt content with just knowing that she was there. Finally, he spoke, his line of vision falling to the floor.

"I already know I'm supposed to move on—but I don't want to. I don't want to forget and simply toss away all the memories just because you're gone, Beatrice."

"Moving on doesn't mean forgetting, Tobias," she smiled, although it was a broken smile, "it just means accepting."

He closed his eyes and gave a sigh—

—And when he opened them again, she was gone—unsurprisingly. His eyes couldn't help but dart around wildly, searching for what was probably never there in the first place.

Hopeless, he leaned against the wall and slid down until he was in a sitting position. As he buried his face in his hands, he caught a faint whisper.

_"Be brave, Tobias."_

Tobias Eaton finally broke down, sobbing all the tears he couldn't cry out before.


End file.
